


Toxins and Poison

by LeSirene



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst without a happy ending, F/M, I am so sorry, i almost of cried while writing this so you are free to hate me, i wanted it to be a fix-it fic but it’s a break-it-beyond-repair fic, kind of goes over their 7x12 fight, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26352274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeSirene/pseuds/LeSirene
Summary: Clarke had figured out a long time ago that she wasn’t God’s favourite. Everything she had accomplished had been through sheer will and survival instincts; Fate had never smiled at her, and had made most things impossibly difficult, instead. So of course —of course— she’d get trapped with Bellamy’s lookalike during a Red Sun Eclipse.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Bellarke - Relationship
Kudos: 26





	Toxins and Poison

**Author's Note:**

> It only recently came to me how enjoyable episode 7x13’s premise could be for us. If only the writers weren’t cowards and gave us the chance to experiment Bellarke trapped in a room while the world goes to hell. We are so lucky fanfiction exists, right?

Clarke had figured out a long time ago that she wasn’t God’s favourite. Everything she had accomplished had been through sheer will and survival instincts; Fate had never smiled at her, and had made most things impossibly difficult, instead. So of course — _of course_ — she’d get trapped with Bellamy’s lookalike during a Red Sun Eclipse. They were back at the school, the very same room they had occupied when they first arrived at Sanctum, just before they discovered that planet’s threats.

She still couldn’t believe that the latest threat for her and her friends to face was the man she had called her best friend and closest ally for as long as she could remember. Clarke looked at him from across the room, recognised the shape of his jaw, his nose, the dark curls on top of his head, and felt the urgent need to scream out of frustration. He looked so much like Bellamy it made her heart ache. But it wasn’t him. Not anymore. At moments it made her sad, realising how much Bardo had messed with his head, but then her sadness turned to anger, because _he_ had tried to mess with _her_ head, too.

Maybe it was the Red Sun toxin already getting to her, but her mind found the way to twist reality enough so she could blame him for everything that had gone south in the last days, and Clarke found herself agreeing with all of those ideas. She could see everything clearly now, the sequence of misadventures that had lead them to where they stood now; it all started and ended with _him_ , with the moment right after he had left her side.

“This is your fault,” she spat, tugging at her chains as she took a step forward. He looked at her from the other side of the room, a sad smile on his lips that made her want to scream anew. How _dare_ him look at her like that, as if _she_ was the one hurting _him_? “Everything is _your fault_ ,” she insisted, trying to get rid of that stupid smile.

“You don’t mean that, Clarke,” he said, voice so calm that it barely reached her ears through the toxin’s roaring.

“Oh, I do. I mean every world. If you hadn’t left, then none of this,” her chains rattled as she motioned around the room and beyond, “would’ve happened. Sheidheda is back because you left, Sanctum’s civilians are dead because you left, Eligius criminals are in charge because you left. You are the very reason Madi is in danger _again_.”

A sharp instant of pain crossed his features, adding another inch of sadness to his mouth. Good. She’d known that old wound would be so easy to tear open again. He had to understand, he had to _know_ how angry she was, how much she _loathed_ him. He had to understand that she’d never forgive him. Not this time. Not in a million years.

“Well, I never meant for any of this to happen,” he said. “If you hadn’t lied…”

“I was trying to protect us!” she exclaimed. “I was trying to save them.”

“By sacrificing yourself.”

“Yes! That’s what I _do_ , Bellamy! I bear it so _they_ don’t have to.” She made sure her words were precise, that she left _him_ out of _her people_. He was an exile, a pariah, a fucking _dead men_ , for all she cared. “I was glad to give my life for them.”

“We’ve already been through this, Clarke.” Bellamy’s voice sounded annoyed, as if the toxin finally was reaching his mind, too. “You don’t have to die. No one has to die.”

Clarke laughed. A cruel, vicious laughter that echoed through the empty room, bathing the school with a poison that quickly mixed with the toxin already in the air.

“And you keep going on about the Last War! Don’t you see that there is no such thing as a last war? Haven’t you understood that there’s always going to be an enemy, that pain and death are always going to be there?”

This time, Bellamy’s eyes filled with something beyond sadness: hopelessness. As if he _finally_ began to understand. “The Shepherd…” he babbled, but Clarke interrupted him:

“Your Shepherd preaches about peace and light, yet he had no problem in _torturing_ me.” She tried to get closer, tugging at her chains so much it hurt. She wanted to be face to face while she tore him apart; if it couldn’t be with her bare hands, then it’d have to be with those precious words Bellamy had held so high up, once upon a time, when they’d been a team.

“It’s only torture if you fight it,” he argued.

“But he knew I would fight it.” She took in his face before delivering her final blow with as much poison as her body could breed: “ _You_ knew I’d fight it, and you let them do it to me, anyway.”

And, at last, _guilt_ joined the conversation. It washed over Bellamy’s other emotions —if he still had any of those— and made his skin pale and his mouth fall open in what Clarke could only hope was horror, realisation, an unbearable pain that matched hers, now hidden under layers of anger and hatred. He became small right there in front of her, a man that had always stood tall and strong, shrinking until he was unrecognisable. His mouth hung open, his brow crossed by deep wrinkles.

Clarke knew she had won. She took a second to gather herself, because the argument had moved her more than she had meant it to, even under the influence of the toxin. She noticed that it’s effects weren’t as strong as they had been before, but maybe it was because this was their second time under its influence. Or maybe it was because this time her anger was directed to someone else, and not to herself. For the first time in a century, Clarke wasn’t at the top of her own list.

The moment she looked back at Bellamy, however, she felt herself becoming small and vulnerable, all the glow from her victory pooling at her feet. He was halfway across the room, his wrists free from the chains while hers remained on hers, holding her in place. She began walking backwards, trying to get away from him, but too soon she found her back hitting the wall. And Bellamy was still walking towards her, his hands raised as if showing he meant no harm.

But they’d already been here before. Her hands flew to her own throat, trying to shield it even when he was ten times stronger than her. He had tried to choke her to death last time, while they were more or less on the same team. What was he capable of, now that they stood on opposite sides of the battle?

He finally came to a stop, just out of reach from her grasp, and stood there, looking at her with that sad smile again. If she hadn’t been so scared, maybe she’d tried to claw it off his face.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, eyes traveling to her neck for a heartbeat. When he looked at her in the eyes again, she found in his’ a clarity that shouldn’t be there.

“How do you…” she mumbled, hating herself for showing interest, but unable to hide her curiosity. “How do you control it?”

Bellamy shook his head. “I have no hate in me, Clarke. I’ve learnt that it is not the way of living.”

“Well, forgive me if surviving requires a lot of hating, then,” she spat, before realising that maybe that wasn’t the wisest thing to do. He could be lying, after all. She’d have to try and keep the toxin in line, as she had done last time.

“I don’t blame you,” he said, pulling a small chair from one of the tables and then sitting on it, still barely out of her reach. “Fighting is all you’ve ever known. You have no way of understanding that there’s a live outside of surviving.”

She stared at him, unable to find her words. The roaring in her ears begged her to venture beyond the wall she was currently glued to, to test if she _could_ , after all, reach his face. She’d get rid of that smile, then. She’d get rid of those eyes that looked at her with a sickening kindness, and the freckles that drew galaxies across his cheeks, and the dark brows, currently frowned in a look of concern. She’d take away all those things that belonged to the man Bellamy had once been, and she’d bury them right next to Lexa, right next to her parents. She’d bury him, like all the people she had once loved. And then she’d burn those goddamned planets to the ground, one by one, until there was no one left to save in an utterly absurd last war.

“I hate you,” she said, and was surprised when her voice came out broken. “ _I hate you_ ,” she repeated, louder, but her voice remained barely a whisper. “You betrayed us and I. Hate. You.”

“I understand,” Bellamy said. And that’s what finally broke her.

The tears started to fall one by one, like a small leak at first, but grew with the passing of minutes, maybe hours, while she cried as if someone had died on her. Maybe that was the thing: she had to accept, all over again, that Bellamy was gone. Dead. Not this man that watched her dissolve in salty water from the distance, but the man she had loved across battlefields and wars and galaxies, who held her hand when she was scared and protected her when she was weak, who had offered her forgiveness when she didn’t deserve it. He was gone. Both of them understood it, now.

“This is so messed up,” she said, voice stronger now that she wasn’t trying to hide her own hopelessness. “And it is your fault.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! Thank you for reading this far!
> 
> I'm currently working on a fix-it multichapter that's turning to be a rewrite of half of Season 7 and kind of a Season 8. (You can find it here: archiveofourown.org/works/25964335/chapters/63117091)   
> But the thing is that that fic is soft and full of light and forgiveness, and I kind of wanted to work with a forgiveness mixed with pain. Turns out: I couldn't do it. But then this mess came out, and I king of liked how it turned out, even if it ISN'T by any means what I'd like to happen in the next few episodes. Maybe I'll write a happier version in the future, idk.
> 
> However sad it was, I hope you enjoyed it! See ya!! Le Sirène Xx
> 
> PS: English isn't my 1st language so you are very welcome to tell me if I messed up or something along the writing, so I can fix it ;)


End file.
